The cat with no tail was out, and he was asking me for the heating pad.
Lately it’s been so warm that I haven’t even been running it.
I go outside and sit down.
The cat walks in little, serpentine patterns, head butting my hands with each step.
Fingers, arms, elbows.
I get under his neck for a little scratch work.
“Such a good cat”
Nobody knows it but me.
To the world, he’s just another critter, just a little thing with a heartbeat.
But I know him.
Know how kind he is, how appreciative.
I know his capacity for murder, how many voles and little birds have fallen to his claws.
The cat with no tail, discarded, full of heart, character
The stuff that makes a good cat “a good cat”
I know him.
I know that while petting him, he likes to turn around and nip your hand.
Not hard.
Not out of anger or cat instinct…
Just a quirk,, just a quirky,lovely little guy.
I see you, little man.
I know who you are.
I know how sweet you are.
dawn 